to my chicory

forget-me-nots
are tender blue
as kisses
drilled into the sky

forget-me-nots
sing you in close
like the wildness
in a baby's eyes

but my chicory
explodes when my back is turned
strides forth
knee high

your bald blue, my dear
not found elsewhere
in the firmament
(I know, I have looked)

back on all these years
embarrassed by
your stems and stubs
like sore elbows

and your lady, Queen Anne
raising her rough cages into the air
like fists
dodging the weed-whacker

but in this new season
the slanting sun sinks
like melted butter into the road
and your face

perfect rows of rays
spreading from inside the heart
your dry mineral intricacy
paper-sheer

invariable blue
your face, my chicory
is a window

as Queen Anne
exhales overnight
tweaking her shoulders
snorting like a cow, opening her arms

into a forest of lace
stiff legs holding up
that dizzying sweep, your spread of
sun's laughter

for if the sun could laugh
it would follow me
down this road

where you wave, and wave
blue chicory, white froth
pedestrian
but blue beyond breath